


Rock Star Glamor

by Laylah



Category: Shin Megami Tensei: Devil Survivor
Genre: Collars, Community: kink_bingo, F/F, Podfic Available, Rock Stars
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-08
Updated: 2011-09-08
Packaged: 2017-10-23 12:56:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 792
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/250537
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laylah/pseuds/Laylah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Aya makes it too easy. Like she does with everything.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rock Star Glamor

**Author's Note:**

> Podfic by Rhea & Mira available here: http://amplificathon.dreamwidth.org/1816206.html

Aya makes it too easy. Like she does with everything.

It's about an hour before the show and they're already at the club, backstage—Haru's too nervous to go out there and mingle, and there's no way she could handle drinking right now—and Aya's been touching up her already-stunning makeup, and then as she goes by she drops the collar in Haru's lap. "Here," she says. "Put that on."

Haru stares down at it. She doesn't really do the punky thing herself—Aya describes her look as "magical girl from the wrong part of town"—and the black leather looks really stark against the pale torn lace of her dress. "I...you think so?" she says. "You don't think it would clash?" She picks it up: satin gloves, leather collar, heavy steel ring hanging off the middle of it.

"Yeah, it'll clash," Aya says. She grins. "It'll clash in the best way. Make you look like a rock star." And she ought to know, Aya with her perfect teased hair and her torn-just-right stockings and the tattoos that peek out above the waistband of her skirt.

"But I," Haru says, looking down. "I'm not...."

Aya tilts her chin up with two fingers until they're eye to eye. "You will be in an hour," she says. "Go on."

Haru puts the collar on. She only fumbles once.

When D-Va goes out on stage she can feel its weight against her throat, solid, heavy. Aya strokes the buttons on the sequencer to start a loop playing and then twists knobs until the sound writhes at her touch. Haru takes the microphone between satin-gloved hands and starts to sing.

Somehow it _works_. There's something in the music that just gets under Haru's skin, something magical about Aya—and maybe that same something turned the collar into a talisman, a charm that makes Haru into the rock star Aya sees in her. The music gets into her veins, blends with her heartbeat, and every time she swallows she can feel the collar ride against her throat: Aya's magic, Aya's glamor, blessing her every breath and giving her the courage she needs to get up in front of all these people and perform.

And between songs, when she has a second to catch her breath, she wonders: has Aya worn this collar to shows before? Do any of D-Va's fans recognize it? Do they make the connection, that Haru is wearing a collar that belongs to Aya?

She feels like she's melting, changing, coming undone right there on the smoky stage of the club. It's like alchemy, the bass humming up through her veins and the lights blazing down on her skin and the feeling of being part of this beautiful thing Aya has made. This thing they're making together now, Aya's melodies and Haru's voice.

Maybe she can blame that alchemy, that altered state, for what she does when their set is done.

There's another band on stage after them—D-Va isn't big enough to headline, even at little clubs, not yet—and backstage is dark and warm and loud, the high end of the sound muffled but the bass still humming up through the floor. Aya's lingering in one of the corners, near the stage but out of the way, her eyes closed like she's listening. Haru's still wearing the collar. She imagines an invisible chain leading from it, dragging her back to Aya's side. She lets herself be dragged.

Aya's eyes flutter open as Haru gets close, and she smiles. "What did I tell you?" she says. "You were great."

"Th-thanks," Haru says. It doesn't seem real, now that it's over. She holds onto the ring of her collar, Aya's collar, like a talisman. Aya raises an eyebrow at that. "Oh, I—did you want this back?"

"No, you should keep it," Aya says. "I like how it looks on you."

Haru can't breathe, the collar suddenly all she can think about. "You like it," she repeats. She makes herself bring her hands down so Aya can actually see how it looks.

"Yeah," Aya says. She stretches out one hand and makes a little pulling motion, and the imaginary leash drags Haru forward. Aya hooks her fingers in the ring once she's close enough and drags Haru the rest of the way over, and that music-magic thing must still be working, because the headliners power into a triumphant chorus just as Aya seals her lips to Haru's.

It's the end of the world and the first taste of freedom and the best kiss of Haru's life: Aya wouldn't need the collar to bring Haru to her knees, but she uses it anyway, a steady slow pull, and Haru's blood sings to her beat.


End file.
